


Fuzzy Dunlop

by MrsRidcully



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Full Shift Werewolves, Fuzzy balls for therapy, M/M, Pre Relationship, This is just fluff and fun, petopher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27389965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRidcully/pseuds/MrsRidcully
Summary: Peter was angry. Not just mildly annoyed, but that gut-clenching, teeth-gnashing rage that only bureaucrats and the DMV could inspire. His wolf paced in his head scrabbling to get out and to rip some throats, but he had responsibilities now, a growing pack and family, and being shot or locked up was not conducive to the “Safe and Sane” image he was trying out for a change.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Comments: 13
Kudos: 133





	Fuzzy Dunlop

**Author's Note:**

> With all the stress at the moment I thought my fellow Teen wolf peeps would enjoy some mindless fluff, this was a quick and silly thing that sprung to mind after reading a equally silly meme.  
> Again hugs and Kisses to Bunnywest for her ninja skills.

Peter was angry. Not just mildly annoyed, but that gut-clenching, teeth-gnashing rage that only bureaucrats and the DMV could inspire. His wolf paced in his head scrabbling to get out and to rip some throats, but he had responsibilities now, a growing pack and family, and being shot or locked up was not conducive to the “ _Safe and Sane_ ” image he was trying out for a change.

He seethed quietly as he drove, his claws appearing and disappearing as he gripped the steering wheel, not sure where he was going. He surprised himself when he found he was pulling into the quiet timber-framed house at the edge of the preserve. He noted the black SUV parked in the driveway. The hunter should be home, and yelling at Chris always helped get his temper under control ,even if all the taciturn man did was nod and look at Peter with those sad blue puppy dog eyes of his. 

Taking a deep breath, he followed the path around the house to the large back yard, following the sounds of _thwak -thwak_ coming from the far end of the yard. Peter stopped to stare at the hunter, who was dressed in a pair of faded old cargo shorts and not much else. Peter could appreciate the man’s physique and the way his muscles bunched as he swung the tennis racquet. He wasn’t blind to the man’s physical appeal, or the fact that Peter found his company tolerable.

“What in the seven hells are you doing, Argent?” Peter snapped, eyes tracking the bright green tennis ball as it was thwacked into the preserve. 

“I’m letting off some steam, you should try it sometime.” Argent hit another ball. Peter tracked its course as it sped into the trees. His wolf twitched, the movement spurring something primal, the need to chase down and hunt. He harshly scolded his inner canid—it was a fucking tennis ball, not a deer.

“Meeting with the town planner didn’t go well, I take it?” Chris asked, his tone calm as he continued hitting the tennis balls out into the preserve.

“No, they said after all that paperwork I still don’t have enough to prove the land was ours, _is_ ours,” Peter snarled, his eyes once again following Chris’s movements with the racquet, focusing in on the fuzzy green ball in Chris’s other hand. His eyes tracked the subtle shift in Chris’s posture as he threw the ball into the air, and the whoosh as his other arm brought the racquet down connecting with the ball. It was almost soothing, except for his wolf’s frantic whining about wanting to chase the damn fuzzy Dunlop ball.

“I know bureaucracy is frustrating Peter, but you’re doing a good thing here. Rebuilding shows the council and the other packs you’re serious about staking your claim as the Hale Alpha, you just can’t let it get you so worked up,” Chris said in an infuriatingly calm tone.

“I’m _aware_ of that Argent, but they’re fighting me on everything. The land has been ours for decades, it’s written about in the damn town charters, but because I don’t have form A filled out in triplicate, they say it’s not ours. “ Peter’s anger bubbled up again. “Would the town _really_ miss a few inconvenient pencil pushers? “ Peter mused aloud.

Chris gave a snort and a soft chuckle. “You can’t solve all your problems with murder.”

“Why not? Cuts out the middleman and eaves spots open for more reasonable sorts. I think it's a perfect solution,” Peter grumbled. 

_Thwak- Thawk._ Two balls were volleyed at speed into the undergrowth, and with that Peters wolf finally won out. With his wolf in the driver’s seat, Peter’s clothes were dumped before he shifted and then he was sprinting into the undergrowth, finding the first of his fuzzy green prey, biting down on it till the offending object popped in his jaws. First ball down, he searched for the next one. Finding it he snatched it up and then pranced back to Chris and dropped his prize at the hunter’s feet. Chris’s eyes glittered in amusement, and if Peter wasn’t mistaken, fondness.

“Okay, let’s see how agile you are. These are going to be fast.” In quick succession, Chris lobbed three balls into the air and volleyed them with his racquet. Without thought Peter leapt, prey instincts going into overdrive. It didn’t matter that the prey in question was fuzzy and green and tasted like rubber. A fine sheen of perspiration covered Chris’s torso and Peter found himself admiring it, nearly missing the next ball to be lobbed into the trees. Chris gave a throaty chuckle as Peter darted off into the woods. 

With each ball caught, each mad dash into the undergrowth, Peter felt his muscles unwind and his temper simmer down. Slowly his head became clearer and his thoughts less murderous.

Peter sat on his haunches panting, his tail going a million wags per minute, or mwps if Stiles were narrating. It was like the damn thing had a mind of his own. He kept a sharp eye on the ball in Chris’s hand, letting out an impatient huff. 

“Someone likes ball play, huh?” Chris gave a smirking leer. Gods, the man couldn’t flirt to save his life. Ball jokes, seriously? Peter was going to have to give the man a lesson in double entendres and wordplay. Just to get his point across he shoved his head none too gently into the hunter’s crotch. Chris let out an _oof_ and chuckled. “Okay, I’ll stop with the bad jokes.”

Peters’s eyes tracked Chris’s hand as he rubbed his groin. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Argent had a delicious surprise under those baggy shorts but his lustful thoughts were cut short by the distinct sound of a ball being hit. Peter sped off, not caring how much his traitorous tail was betraying him.

With the sun dropping below the tree line, they finally stopped. Peter sat breathing heavily, his muscles relaxed and pliant as he tied up his shoelaces. He shot Chris a glare, but there was no heat in it. “Did you really just lure me into a game of fetch?” He wanted to be snippy about it, but with how relaxed he felt he couldn’t quite manage it

“You feel better don’t you? Burned off some of that anger, maybe?” Chris handed him a bottle of water, head tilted to one side, a small smile on his face. “If it makes you feel better, you could always think of this as therapy with Fuzzy Dunlop.” Chris smirked and ducked when Peter threw the empty bottle at him.

“I still hate you by the way,” Peter grumbled as he stood. He absolutely didn’t, but the lies one told oneself and all that.

“You keep telling yourself that Peter. Come on, I have some steaks defrosting and a good Merlot waiting to be drunk.” Peter noticed the fond look in Chris’s eyes, and what he could swear was a guarded sort of hopefulness.

“Well, who am I to turn down food and wine?” Getting up, he allowed himself to return the smile. “If the town planners keep going the way they are, you’re going to need to buy a lot more tennis balls,” he commented lightly as he followed Chris inside.

“I’ll make sure I have plenty should the need arise, but if we run low I’m sure I can find other ways to exercise your wolf and help you unwind.” Peter smirked at the blush rising on Chris’s neck. If he was honest, he wouldn’t mind seeing exactly what Chris had in mind.

Peter followed Chris inside. “I hope you’re not going to leave all those balls out there in the preserve,” he said, just to be contrary.

“No, Peter. I’m going to go out in the morning and collect them. You can help.” Chris called from deeper in the house.

  
“Oh, planning on keeping me here all night are you?” Peter smirked.

Chris gave a nervous chuckle. “How about we see how dinner pans out and take it from there?” Chris grinned shyly as he ducked his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the awkwardness so out of character on the normally confident man that Peter found it almost sweet.

Peter didn’t really have to think too hard about Chris’s offer. A pleasant dinner with an intelligent and attractive companion, and who knew what dessert might bring? Peter gave Chris a smile. “Yes, why don’t we?”

  
Chris found Peters baby photos :) 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading my Stuffs


End file.
